


Strange Fascinations

by CristinaNovak



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Apple Pie, Ed is a dork, F/M, One Shot, Other, Silly, gratuitous al
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CristinaNovak/pseuds/CristinaNovak
Summary: Thanks to the renewal of his senses, Alphonse has developed a certain fascination with Winry's hair. Edward is curious.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Strange Fascinations

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very old fic of mine that I recently decided to fix up. Seriously, it is so old the manga was not even finished when I first wrote it. It is still floating around ff.net. Do tell me if you recognize it ;) 
> 
> I don't own FMA. In fact, it owns me.

**Strange Fascinations**

The sound of the knife slicing through apples and hitting the cutting board was what brought him to the kitchen in the first place, and it would turn out to be a mistake. 

It was common knowledge that Winry’s apple pie was probably the best in Amestris, and it was definitely a good day when she got the chance to make one. Somehow, though, Edward had managed to get himself stuck in apple-slicing duty (right after she had told him off for not cutting the fruits into _exactly ¼ inch thick slices_ like Gracia Hughes taught her). 

So, as Winry gathered the rest of the ingredients and placed them along the kitchen counter, he currently sat at the table, slicing apples at a quarter of the speed than she would (he really missed alchemy sometimes), and regretting entering the kitchen at all. 

He was halfway through the fourth apple, grumbling under his breath about ¼ inch thick slices and being Winry’s personal slave (while she completely ignored him) when Alphonse walked into the kitchen and found them hard at work. His eyes slid from Winry to Edward, and his expression brightened at once. 

“Apple pie?” he asked excitedly. “How can I help?”

“You can finish sli-”

“Al, come here,” Winry interrupted his master plan, which involved getting Al stuck with apple-slicing while he slowly backed away from the kitchen before Winry gave him a different task she could then berate him for.

Alphonse walked over to where she stood with a tin bowl held in one of her arms, balanced between her stomach and the counter, while her other hand used some kind of _blending contraption_ Edward didn’t recognize to mix the ingredients inside. His brother stood right behind her and looked over her shoulder at her work in progress. 

“This is the crust,” she told him, shifting a little to the side so he could get a better look at what was inside the bowl. “The butter was colder than last time when I added it, that’s supposed to help the dough come together…” 

Winry kept rambling on about the butter’s temperature or something, but Edward had stopped listening. In fact, he was only distractedly still slicing the apples. His whole focus, for the moment, was on his brother and his childhood friend.

He was staring at them, rather blatantly, because Alphonse’s hands were on Winry’s hair again.

From the moment he got his body back, Edward had witnessed how his brother had discovered, or _re_ discovered, the use of his missing senses. The recovery had been certainly painful at first, but the outcome had turned out to be mostly gratifying; every flavor, every smell, every texture was a thrilling revelation. Every touch, and taste, and scent, albeit brief or futile, was fascinating.

“I don’t think that’s enough cinnamon, though…” Winry kept discussing the preparation of the apple pie, but Edward was not paying much attention to that at all. He was too busy scrutinizing Alphonse’s hands as they ran down the curtain of Winry's hair, and wondering how he did that so absent-mindedly. 

Alphonse’s renewal of his senses also came with a couple of fascinations that were, in Edward’s opinion, _strange_ . He was sure he had found him smelling books more often than actually reading them; which, _fine_ , he could understand. But he had already caught him sniffing a jar of pickled cucumbers _twice_ . He also spent an absurd amount of time petting and cuddling Den, to the point where the dog now trailed behind him every waking hour of the day. And he had caught a terrible cold not too long ago because he just _had_ to stand outside like a maniac each time it rained. 

And then there was this. Winry’s hair. 

He wasn't sure exactly when it began, or how. Edward had just slowly started to realize that, whenever they spent time together, Alphonse somehow managed to run his fingers through Winry’s hair. Whether she was bent over some automail, or if they were grocery shopping, or if the three of them were simply chatting in the living room, he always got at least a finger on it. And she seemed to thoroughly enjoy it when he did, which completely boggled Edward’s mind. 

He was intrigued by how easily Alphonse could just bring a handful of the gold tresses up to his face, breathe in, and then he would tell her how nice it smelled and they would laugh and it would all be so _natural_ . Edward figured that if _he_ ever dared to do something like that, he would probably end up in the emergency room with a wrench neatly inserted into his skull.

His reverie was cut short when the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board coincided with a sharp pain on his index finger. 

“Argh!” He dropped the utensil and pushed the chair away from the kitchen table with a loud screech. Alphonse and Winry spun around to look as he dashed to the sink and stuck his bleeding finger under the running, cold water. 

“Brother! Are you okay?” 

“Ed! Oh, I have some gauze in the workshop-” Winry was beginning to say, as she let go of the dough she had started to spread over the countertop and wiped her hands on her apron. 

“No, don’t worry,” he interrupted her, turning off the faucet and lifting his finger up to his face to examine the cut. The wound was luckily shallow, and the open bleeding had been replaced by a thin, almost imperceptible red line across his fingertip. He held it out for Winry and Al to see for themselves. “It’s fine now, see? No additional automail needed.”

Alphonse nodded and chuckled. Winry, on the other hand, seeing as Edward was under no perilous risk, raised a chastising eyebrow at him and returned to her dough. 

“Very funny, Ed. Be careful and don’t bleed all over my apples.” 

“I’m almost done with your damn apples,” he retorted, stepping back to the table where the last half-apple and the knife that almost maimed him awaited. 

He heard Winry breathe an exasperated sigh that turned into a groan, but instead of retaliating something back, she turned to Alphonse. “Anyway, I think Granny has some cinnamon down in the workshop. She uses it for her tea. Could you go get it?”

“Sure!” his always-(genuinely)-happy-to-help brother answered. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the kitchen, finally letting go of Winry’s hair, and Edward was left alone with her. 

In many obvious ways, Edward was the polar opposite of his younger brother. Where he was hot-headed, Alphonse was cool and collected. Where he was reckless, Alphonse was careful and considerate. And, even from within his suit of armor, he had always been warm and affectionate, which Edward was, well, _not_.

So it didn’t surprise him how warm and affectionate his brother _acted_ ever since he finally got rid of the armor and recovered his own, living body. How he enjoyed looping people into hugs, holding hands, how easily and without hesitation he expressed his affection toward everyone. Everyone, including Winry, which was not an issue.

But he couldn’t help being a bit curious, though. He used to be an alchemist, after all. 

“Okay, apples are done,” he said, flinging the last ¼ inch thick apple slice on the bowl with defeat. 

“Hey, Ed, can you help me with something?” she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder. She was still working by the counter, her hands covered in butter and flour up to her wrists. 

“Of course, milady,” he said, standing up from his spot at the table and injecting as much mockery as he could into his words. “What else can this humble servant do for you?” 

He could almost hear her eye-roll in her voice. “Ugh, listen,” she stopped spreading the dough on the countertop and pointed one dirty finger toward a spot to her right, directly at a small metallic object he could not identify. "Can you grab my hair with that?"

“ _Huh_?” His eyes widened involuntarily.

“The hair clip!” She wiggled her finger and stretched her hand further toward the thing, lying innocently next to the bag of sugar, discarded by none other than Alphonse. “Just pull it into a ponytail or something,” she said and gestured at her own head. Then she tried to push strands of her hair away from her face using only her shoulders, and failed. “It’s getting all over my face and it’s driving me nuts.”

She talked as if she was asking for the most normal thing in the entire world. Which, in reality, she was. But not to him. Not after his trance. Not after he had almost chopped his finger off. He was too baffled to react.

“Ed?” He realized he had not spoken for several seconds, and had instead stared silently at the clear blond hair cascading down her back while she expectantly waited for him to fix it, her dirty hands already back on the dough but unmoving. “Quickly!”

"Alright, alright! Jeez."

He took the hair clip from the counter and held it in his hands, not understanding what he was getting so worked up about. He used to be an alchemist, for Truth’s sake. Amestris’ youngest State Alchemist in history! He had escaped death a thousand times, used himself as a philosopher stone, helped save the country, _cheated Truth itself_.

This was a freaking ponytail. He needed to get a hold of himself.

With a resolute nod, he stood right behind Winry and started gathering her hair between the tips of his fingers, careful not to use his injured one, the hair clip hanging from between his lips. His first thought was how surprisingly soft her hair was. He gingerly pulled back the long strands that had landed on the sides of her face and interfered with her task as her hands went back to work. 

Meanwhile, his fingers definitely lingered more than necessary against the hair, letting it slide away as they caressed his rough fingers, not really accomplishing what he was supposed to be doing. Soon enough, he let the silky locks slip between his hands more confidently, more eagerly. 

He didn't need to bury his face in it like Alphonse did to get hints of the sweet scent of her hair. He had absolutely no idea what it was; some flowery shampoo, something buttery, he thought he could even smell the slightest hint of automail oil. He was absolutely captivated by the gold traces his fingers left behind as he ran them through, and the silky texture caressing his hands, and the scent of whatever it was on his nose. He had not the faintest clue of how much time he spent doing this and accomplishing nothing. 

“Ed?” 

He froze. In that second, he realized many things, and none of them were particularly helpful. 

He had somehow inched so close to Winry that she was practically trapped between him and the edge of the counter. Her hands had curled into fists and now hovered uselessly over the dough, having apparently squeezed it too hard, which resulted in a completely deformed disk. And from his vantage point he could see how flushed the back of her neck and the tips of her ears had gotten, triggering his own blood to violently rush up to his cheeks.

He was completely paralyzed, his hands holding the ponytail he hadn’t yet managed to finish, as the reality of what he had been doing (and consequently, the effect it had on her) dawned on him. His eyes widened in horror.

With a speed he didn’t know he possessed, he took the clip from between his lips and finally clasped the thing around the godforsaken ponytail. 

"Done!" he squeaked a little too enthusiastically, jerking away from her as if she had just struck him with lighting. Which she had probably done. He bumped against one of the chairs behind him and almost knocked it over. He steadied it with his hand and felt like his heart was going to hammer its way out of his chest.

"Thank you, Ed," she said a little too loudly, her voice quavering at the end. From the corner of his eye he could see her going back to her task of rolling the dough into an acceptable disk. He supposed she was shrinking over the kitchen counter on purpose.

“Okay, I found the cinnamon!” Alphonse announced cheerily as he re-entered the kitchen, holding the small packet triumphantly in his hand and making Edward almost knock over the chair he was leaning on again. His face shifted as he walked over to Winry by the counter, handed her the cinnamon, and seemed to read the room. “Is everything alright?”

"Took you long enough, Al!" Winry snapped a little too desperately, snatching the cinnamon from his hand with her own smeared one. Then, regaining her composure, she added, “thank you.”

“No problem.” Alphonse frowned, but then seemed to assume nothing of it as the creases on his forehead smoothed over. He followed Winry with his eyes as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel (why didn’t she do that _before_?) and walked over to the table to grab the bowl with the sliced apples. She briefly met Edward’s eyes before (and he could’ve sworn this was true) her face turned three shades darker of red and she looked away, taking the bowl back to the counter. 

“I’m doing the filling now,” she told Alphonse, and Edward could still hear a hint of tension in her voice. 

“Do you need help with anything else?” Alphonse asked as leaned against the counter by her side and gazed at her while she poured the ingredients into a new bowl. 

“No, it’s fine. Thank you, guys,” she replied to both of them, but refused to look at either. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Alright. Tell us if you need anything,” He said, pushing himself off the countertop and swiping one of the leftover apple slices from the bowl beside Winry. He popped it into his mouth and glanced back at her now fixed hair; he ran one free index finger down a golden strand that hung from the ponytail, before turning away and swallowing the chewed fruit. “Nice ponytail."

Edward, who had been rooted to kitchen tiles, hand glued to the back of the chair, and unable to move for the last couple of minutes, stared at all of this and didn’t like the little smirk that had formed on his brother’s face. 

He somehow knew what was coming before Alphonse actually said it.

“You did a splendid job, brother!” And then he calmly walked out of the kitchen, right where he had come from to mess everything up. 

Absolutely horrified, he looked after his retreating form and felt the desperate need to flee out of this kitchen in the opposite direction. He glanced at Winry, who he realized had become completely still while pouring a cup of sugar. Their eyes met again for the briefest of seconds (and he confirmed her face was technically purple, as was his, probably) before she hastily turned back to the now empty cup in her hand as if it was the most interesting object in Amestris.

Without a word, he stomped out of the kitchen through the back door, refusing to leave in the same direction Alphonse had. He was not about to risk getting any more knowing looks and mortifying comments from him. He had always known a little bit too much. 

He mentally cursed his brother’s strange fascinations (although he did have a point about this particular one), but overall he cursed himself and his curiosity. For now, he needed to be alone and recite the periodic table to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. One of the things I fixed from the original are the details about the pie making. I am seriously clueless about baking, so forgive me, please. 
> 
> 2\. The "contraption" mentioned in the story is apparently called a pastry blender.
> 
> 3\. I can't believe I didn't know if these characters were actually going to make it in one piece when I first wrote this.


End file.
